


Busted

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Victor finds the stash.





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’m sure there’s a million of these, but oh well.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By the time Yuuri gets home, his call of, “Victor!” isn’t much more than a wheeze. He doesn’t get an answer, but once he’s kicked off his shoes and shed his jacket, he finds his mother in the living area. 

She tells him, “He’s not here, dear,” which he can see—there are only three patrons sitting around the low tables, bickering over the remote and steaming bowls of miso soup. 

The hot springs are similarly empty, even though it’s a relatively cool day where anyone could use a warm soak. For a moment, Yuuri wonders if Victor went out without him. For a man in a foreign country, Victor seems to have no fear, and he doesn’t always think to tell Yuuri when he’s leaving. As Yuuri pads down the hall, he tries another half-hearted, “Victor?”

“Yuuri?” a familiar voice calls back, tinted in a Russian accent but unusually devoid of emotion. Yuuri freezes for a split second. The flat tone makes something primal whisper: _you’re in trouble_. Even though he faithfully ran Victor’s course. Which was way too long. He’d hoped that Victor, also competing this year, would’ve run it with him, but Victor doesn’t put on weight like Yuuri does, and as Yuuri’s coach, he can afford to set different rules. Victor would probably look just fine even if he didn’t train all year.

Victor _always_ looks amazing. Yuuri follows his voice to the open door near the end: Yuuri’s own bedroom. All he really wants is to collapse into his bed with his absolutely gorgeous boyfriend while they’re staying in his family home. Unfortunately, he has the sneaking suspicion that’s not going to happen. 

He rounds the corner, goes in and shuts the door, and blinks down at Victor. Victor’s sitting on the floor, back to the bed, a half-empty box next to him and a pile of papers in his lap. Yuuri takes another step closer, then freezes.

The crisp, glossy sheet laid across Victor’s thighs shows a vivid print of him dancing on the ice, silver hair swept back and blue eyes burning. He looks every bit as beautiful, captivating, _tantalizing_ as he does in person. Yuuri swallows down a gulp while the shivers run down his spine. He always knew this could happen.

He meekly splutters, “I... I can explain...” But he can’t really. It’s exactly what it looks like. He used to have a hundred posters of Victor hung all over his walls, and he just barely managed to hide them all away before the real Victor Nikiforov graced his bedroom. The only reason he hasn’t cracked and put them all back up like the crazed fanboy he is is that the actual Victor is still miraculously in his life.

Handsome face fixed in a thin frown, Victor glances up at Yuuri. He asks in a complete monotone, “Why were these under your bed?”

“I... I’m sorry.” Yuuri doesn’t know what else he can say so just repeats, “I apologize, I didn’t—I didn’t ever think you’d see! I just, I didn’t think I’d ever get to meet you, and you were my inspiration—my idol!—but I know there’s so many and it’s totally creepy and I totally—”

Victor cuts in, “Why aren’t there any recent ones?”

Yuuri’s brain might be malfunctioning. He’s fairly certain his whole face is red, and it’s overheated his brain. He stumbles, “Uh... well, I mean... you’re here now... I wouldn’t do that kind of thing in front of you... n-not that I was waiting to behind your back—”

“But I still look good now, right?” Victor asks, dropping into a pout. “And now you could get exclusive shots!”

Yuuri just sort of stares. Victor thumbs thoughtfully through the posters in his lap. A soft, wistful smile appears as he goes, as if caught up in old memories. When his eyes return to Yuuri, he murmurs, “You really liked me, didn’t you, Yuuri?”

It was so much more than _like_. The sheer volume of posters should show that. Yuuri only manages, “You’re... not mad...?”

Victor scoffs and answers, “I’m flattered!” He’s grinning one second, pouting again the next, ever mercurial: “Why’d you take them down, though?” Then a sly smile is back, and he leans up, all but purring, “And what did you do with them when they were up?” Yuuri stiffens. Victor reaches up to grab his wrist and gives one simple tug that undoes Yuuri completely: he collapses onto his knees in front of Victor. Victor moves the pile out of his lap so he can shuffle closer, crooning, “Did you have these all over your walls, Yuuri, so you could stare at them any time you liked? ...Like when you were in _bed_... were you thinking about me...?”

Groaning helplessly, Yuuri covers his face with both hands. This is every bit as embarrassing as he always feared it would be, even though it’s come without the anger and accusations he’d worried over. Victor chuckles at him, and the next thing Yuuri knows, he’s got Victor’s strong arms around his shoulders. Victor hugs him tightly. Yuuri wilts into it, utterly melting. Victor murmurs into his ear, “You make me feel so special, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gives in and holds Victor back, knowing full well that he’s the luckiest man on Earth.


End file.
